No Shelter Among the Stars

Chapter 2- Tasla

Tasla looked up at the sound of the intercom. The link he shared with the rest of his Konsilia lighting up in the corner of his right eye lens.

"Did someone just try and hail them?" asked Ilias. His voice was deep and resonant, like a singer.

"Talk to me, Haris," said Sander. His voice was soft, but cold.

Haris's voice pounded through Tasla's headgear, the moron was still too cherry to control the volume on the control panel. "Enemy vessel closing in!" he boomed.

"Turn the volume down, stupid feka," growled Ilias.

"Sorry sir," said Haris, his voice normalized after a series of audible clicks.

"The enemy vessel?" said Sander.

"Class B Frigate," said Haris, "It's hailing me. I don't think they've figured out what we're doing yet."

"Good," said Sander, "Let's load up what we've got and get out of here. Spiro?"

"Sander?" came a gruff reply. Spiro always sounded like he had just woken up.

"Prep the goons for exit," said Sander

"Ready when you are," Spiro replied.

The link quieted as everyone went about his business. Tasla looked down at the kneeling hostages. The captain was staring at him. Her blue eyes glittered with anger. The targeting systems in his combat mask automatically marked angles of attack and scanned for weapons and threats. Lights flashed across his retinas. All the people kneeling on the floor tickled something inside him. He could feel it rising in his throat and tickling his fingertips.

Licking his lips behind his mask he drew his pistols. They slid out smooth and easy. Light glittered across them, every edge and rod on each weapon shone with oiled brilliance. An array of chants and symbols had been painstakingly carved across the handles and down the barrels then worked with brass. An indicator on the bottom right of his view screen flashed green. The ammo count flickered, begging to be used.

The hostages were all staring at him, eyes wide. This was the first time he had drawn his weapons since he and the others had boarded the ship. Sander and Ilias didn't like bloodshed if it could be avoided. The goons were intimidating enough to quash most thoughts of resistance. He glanced at Theta, it's chopper still frozen in the same position. Then he looked back at the captured crew.

"Captain Chara," he said, his mouth felt dry, "You and your crew will move up against that wall until my associates come through."

She obeyed, as did her crew, but slowly, so slowly. Tasla watched them move as every muscle begged for him to start pulling the triggers. He thought he could hear their heartbeats, blood pushing through their bodies with the rhythm of a beating drum. He both loved and loathed the sound. It echoed through his head and sent quivers of sensation down his nerve endings.

He leveled his pistols, the ammo count flickering for each one. The captives were all cowering against the wall, except the captain. She had too much pride to cower. She was afraid, but she hid it better. He looked from her beady eyes to her pale throat. He watched it move as she swallowed. Blood and fluids hid behind a thin layer of skin. The pumping hearts around him cascaded against his senses. He sucked in short breaths.

"Taking fire!" shouted Haris. His voice was accompanied by a shaking blast that crackled through the com link.

"Acknowledged," said Tasla, reluctantly lowering his pistols. He looked from the trembling crew to the hallway just in time to see Sander and Ilias round the corner. The Hoverlift they rode was carrying a massive flat of metal crates. It hummed as it moved forward slower than a man could walk.